We eye each other warily, trying to hide our nervousness, like college freshmen moving into a dorm or kids going to camp for the first time.
“Have I brought the right gear? Am I up to this?”
These are the things we wonder about as we get off the bus after a winding two-hour drive from Denver.
“What if I can’t do it? What if I embarrass myself?”
Those aren’t just idle questions. The 19 of us have signed on for a rigorous, weeklong Outward Bound trip in the Colorado Rockies designed not only to test us physically, but to make us think about where we are in our lives and where we hope to go. We’ll tackle a ropes course, climb a cliff, and backpack into the wilderness at an altitude so high that even the fittest among us will be short of breath.
We tentatively exchange stories. Several of us are celebrating 40th and 50th birthdays. A 50-year-old physical therapist from New York got the trip as a present from her two daughters. A banquet manager from Philadelphia, the mother of teenage twins, signed on so that she would be “doing something different” on her 50th birthday. Others were grappling with divorce, marital problems or career doldrums. We range in age from early 30s to mid-50s and come from across the country and beyond, from Maine to California to Thailand. (This was a Thai editor’s last stop after several months of study in Boston.)
One long-married New England woman had recently realized she was gay. Lynne, a 37-year-old nurse and mother from Northern California got the trip from her husband for Christmas because he thought she needed some new challenges in her life.
“I didn’t know whether to hug him or vomit,” Lynne said.
Some were returning 10 or 20 years after they’d been on similar adventures. The first time I signed up for Outward Bound, more than 20 years ago, I never made the trip; I met my husband, Andy, soon after I’d registered and used my vacation time to go to Texas to meet his family. We got married a few months later.
This time I came to write a story. I was glad for the opportunity to step out of the “mom” role on vacation, letting someone else lead the way and worry about what we’ll eat and where we’ll go. I wanted to see whether a get-out-of-your-comfort-zone adventure would be everything that the aficionados said it would be. Were there really life lessons to be learned through whitewater rafting or rock climbing? Lessons that would have resonance at home?
Jill Lawrence, who supervises all of Outward Bound West’s career-renewal and life-renewal courses, notes that people often go home from these courses and make big changes in their lives.
“People want to change their lives, but they get stuck,” Lawrence said. “They feel like they can’t do it on their own.”
The not-for-profit company Outward Bound USA, founded overseas during World War II, has been encouraging Americans to challenge themselves physically and mentally for more than 40 years. Some 60,000 people sign on each year (more than one-third of them adults) for adventures ranging from four-day trips to three-month courses that college students take for credit. Outward Bound gives out more than $5 million in scholarships each year.
The sort of adventure vacations Outward Bound specializes in are becoming increasingly popular among women. “More women are looking for more adventures to stretch themselves in areas that were male-dominated,” observes Lawrence, a 10-year Outward Bound veteran.
In fact, nearly half of the 95 million-plus Americans who have taken adventure trips in the last five years are women. A growing number of outfitters now offer women-only adventures — from sailing to surfing, skiing to fly-fishing. Outward Bound offers 19 women-only courses.
Along with six others, I’ve opted for one of these women’s courses. The rest of our bus mates make up a coed group.
“We’re going to refine your sense of focus this week,” Lawrence tells us. “We get terribly busy and forget. Slow down and connect with each other — and yourselves.”
Our leaders try to put us at ease. Katie Asmus is a 31-year-old Boulder, Colo., therapist who has been leading wilderness trips since she was in college. Diane Venture, who’s turning 50, lives in San Diego and discovered adventure later in life. She’s determined to make us love the challenge of the wilderness as much as she does.
I’m relived when they tell us no one fails Outward Bound.
“It’s your choice at what level you challenge yourself,” Asmus says.
Adds Lawrence: “The only failure is failing to learn about yourself.”
I’m still worried. I’m the oldest in the group and far from the fittest, despite eight weeks of training. My group includes Mary, a triathlete who coaches at a Maryland middle school; JoAnne, a former officer in the Marines; and Faith, an experienced backcountry camper. We have seven kids among us and several divorcees. A couple of the women are gay.
Before we do anything, we play a game. (Outward Bound is big on games.) This rope can be anything you want it to be,” Asmus tells us as she hands over a piece of rope. The rope is alternatively a bow, a heart, the sun, Mickey Mouse ears, an apple. The point, of course, is that this Outward Bound course can be anything we want it to be.
We drag our duffels to our spartan dorm, where sleeping bags are waiting on our bunk beds. The setting — wooded and rustic, with clean air, no phones and a no-frills cafeteria next door — reminds me of summer camp. Only later in the week, when we’re sleeping on the ground, going to the bathroom in the woods, will we appreciate those simple bunks with electric lights, bathrooms and (sometimes) hot showers.
We’re given gear. Outward Bound supplies all of it — packs, helmets, harnesses, water bottles and even long underwear if we haven’t brought any. (We’re going to need it in the backcountry, we’re told.) We’re advised to keep drinking water to prevent altitude sickness. We’re at 10,200 feet.
Over a lunch of cold-cut sandwiches, we talk about why we’ve come. Katherine, a 35-year-old mother from Maine, was desperate for some “just-me” time. JoAnne, from Colorado, has just decided to leave her husband. Mary, the triathlete, has been sent from her school and hopes to bring back some new ideas for her students. Faith just finished graduate school.
We head to the ropes course. I look up 25 feet at the wires, cargo nets and swings we’re supposed to cross, one across a raging creek, while hanging onto an overhead wire. We must clip, unclip and lock our carabiners at the beginning of each of the dozen or so “challenges.” I know we’re harnessed for safety, but I’m petrified.
“You can do it,” Lynne tells me. She’s just ahead of me. “Good job,” says JoAnne, who follows me, looking like an experienced trapeze artist. The encouragement we give one another will be a hallmark of the trip.
I fall and can’t pull myself back on the wire. “Do you want to quit?” the leaders yell from below.
I don’t know why I don’t. Lawrence climbs out on my wire, and with one yank on my harness she helps me stand again. My heart is pounding. I make my way to the next platform and continue until I finish the course.
I’m amazed when I climb down. I’ve met my first challenge. That night, Diane Venture suggests we think about how the staff can help us meet the challenges and goals we’ve set for ourselves. I realize that I’m always so busy supporting everyone else in the family, I’ve never really thought about how others might help me.
But the next morning, I’m nervous all over again. We’re going to climb a cliff 35 feet high. We head off to a stark, rocky area called Turtle Rock. Apparently people come from all over Colorado to climb here. Some members of our group confess later that they’re more frightened of scrambling up the rocks to reach the cliff we’re going to scale than of the actual rock climbing with ropes, helmets and harnesses.
We learn how to make knots, and how to hold and release the ropes. We’re told that rock climbing is like life: Find your footholds and handholds, and move forward not knowing if you will ever make it to the top.
“Who would you want to hold the ropes that support you in your life?” asks Venture, who has helped found Sheclimbs Inc. (www.sheclimbs.org), a national women’s climbing organization.
When it’s my turn, I make it about two-thirds of the way up before I opt to be lowered back down. I think just going that far is an accomplishment, but Venture, an avid climber, insists I can do better. “It will be easier the second time,” she promises.
I’m not sure I believe her, but everyone else is climbing. Mary, the triathlete, is going up blindfolded! That must be what Outward Bound means about setting your own level of challenge. I get to the boulder that stymied me the first time. “Go more left,” Diane yells from the bottom.
It’s not easy. I think this is like being a new parent: You’re not really sure you’re doing the right thing or going in the right direction, but you just keep trying and keep moving forward.
Finally, I make it to the top. The group cheers from below. I cry.
I’m not disappointed when threatening clouds (storms materialize quickly here) make us abandon the rappelling lesson: I’ve had enough challenges for one day.
Whitewater rafting will be a snap after this, I think, though others in our group are far more worried about jumping into rapids than scaling rocks. I’ve rafted before and know what to expect. I see what our leaders mean about everyone facing different fears.
Late one night, we talk about our values. What matters to us? Whom do we admire? For a bunch of strangers, we are very frank, sharing intimate thoughts. “I could never do this if there were guys in the group,” Katherine says.
“I feel like I’m too comfortable,” Faith says. “I need to shake it up a bit, figure out what to do next.”
None of us is especially comfortable when we head off into the Colorado backcountry with 35-pound loads on our backs. The last time I carried such a heavy pack was when I was a college student, touring after a semester abroad. I didn’t carry any group gear back then. This time, I’ve got the cooking utensils, a stove and the shovel (which we dub “Elvis”) we’ll use to dig potty holes that must be filled in when we’re done. This is leave-no-trace camping.
We’re crabby from the heavy packs and the altitude. We take frequent breaks and stop for a lunch of cheese, crackers and peanut butter. Katie pulls out the M&Ms. We learn to take deep cleansing breaths, the kind labor coaches teach. We help each other cross streams and climb up gullies. We use ski poles as walking sticks. A little more than two miles later — it feels like 10 — we get to the place where the leaders decide we’ll camp.
I wish a hotel would materialize in the mist. Instead, we gamely add layers of clothes to ward off the chill (it will plunge to 38 degrees), put up tarps in case it rains, get the stoves going and bring water from the creek to boil. We turn out decent pasta with pesto.
None of us sleeps well. We hear coyotes howling. We’re cold.
We’re up at 5 a.m. to get ready for our peak ascent. “I didn’t even know what a peak ascent was,” confesses Lynne. We’re going to try to climb a mountain that’s nearly 13,000 feet high.
At least there’s coffee. At least we’ll only have to carry light daypacks.
We can’t find the trail and quickly realize we haven’t camped where we’d planned — we have much farther to go. We bushwhack our way up rocky hills steeper than many ski slopes. I notice that one member of the group is very frightened. I’m OK — I just wonder if I have enough endurance.
When we break for lunch at the top of the ridge, my pack rolls 200 yards down the mountain. I’m grateful when Mary, the triathlete, volunteers to climb down after it.
This day isn’t turning out the way we planned — just like many of my days at home. We may never find the peak. We may never make the ascent.
One member of the group elects to go back with one of our leaders. The rest of us press on. We’re all breathing hard, but the views — craggy mountains all around us — make it worth the effort. When we finally get to the top, we discover we’re right next to our peak, staring at the Continental Divide. We talk about how the pioneers must have felt when they reached that point. One of the leaders pulls out chocolate. (Apparently, eating chocolate when reaching a peak is an Outward Bound tradition.) She tells us to sit and watch the mountains silently for several minutes.
“I thought about what a great life I’ve got,” says Lynne. I realize I’m thinking the same thing.
We head down, stopping to scrawl messages in the snow patches. We step over the creek’s slick rocks. We arrive back at camp exhilarated and starving. We cook an early dinner — burritos with rice and beans. The pots are sticky. If only we had a dishwasher, or at least running water.
Now we can either go sleep in the wilderness — alone — or head out for a day of solitude in the morning. The solo wilderness experience is an important component of Outward Bound trips. It’s a chance to reflect on the week and on our lives. Our leaders promise we’ll be within whistle range at all times.
I elect for the overnight, as do about half the members of our group. Venture and Asmus have scouted spots that guarantee us a view. Mine overlooks a waterfall and the mountain. But all the bugs make it hard to enjoy the scenery, much less contemplate nature. I huddle in my sleeping bag under the tarp. I notice that the moon is nearly full.
The next morning, I long for coffee and a shower. I make do with peanut butter crackers and the power bar JoAnne has given me.
I’ll be alone all day until nearly 5 p.m. I can’t remember the last time I had so much time to myself with absolutely nothing to do. I write letters to the people I love most.
The sun is hidden behind the clouds. I worry it will rain. But of course, this day isn’t exactly what I expected — there are too many bugs!
Two weeks later, back in my air-conditioned office, with bathroom and kitchen nearby, I think about those bugs, about Elvis, about panting for breath. Even the worst day home seems easy in comparison.
I finally get how these vacation challenges translate to “real” life. I look at a picture of myself taken during the trip — disheveled and triumphant, my pack on my back — and smile. XXXXX
OPTIONAL INFO BOX: Outward Bound offers 750 courses in 20 states — from sailing in Maine to canoeing in Minnesota to rock climbing in California. There are many winter courses as well — dog sledding and winter camping, for example. There are 28 “renewal” courses and 19 women’s courses. There also are family courses designed for parents and teens, where perhaps for the first time in their lives, teens will be on an equal footing with parents and may even assume leadership roles.
Costs average $125 to -$150 a day — a bargain considering that gear, food and guides are included. (Visit www.outwardbound.org.)
There also are a growing number of less rigorous outdoor adventures. (Check www.gorp.com.)
For women’s trips:
— The Women’s Wilderness Institute in Boulder, Colo., offers backpacking, rock climbing and fly-fishing trips, including some for teenage girls. (Visit www.womenswilderness.org.)
— Ski resorts around the country offer women’s ski and snowboard camps. (Visit www.skilikeawoman.com.) In Utah, Snowbird’s program has been going strong since the 1980s. (Visit www.snowbird.com or www.womensskicamps.com.) Extreme skier Kim Reichhelm offers women’s clinics at different Colorado resorts. (Visit www.skiwithkim.com.)
— River Odysseys West offers a yoga and journaling rafting adventure. (Visit www.rowinc.com.) Wildland Adventures offers a “rainforest rejuvenation” for women in Costa Rica that includes yoga. (Visit www.wildland.com.)
— Offshore Sailing School offers women’s-only courses in Florida and elsewhere. (Visit www.offshore-sailing.com.)
— California-based Surf Diva invites women to learn to surf. (Visit www.surfdiva.com.)
(Eileen Ogintz welcomes questions and comments from readers. She can be contacted at eileen@takingthekids.com.)
